Some Kind of Wonderful (Puffin Island 2)

“Mostly, but not entirely. I can only go so long without coming here. I get sort of itchy. No matter where I live, this place is still home.” She struggled to describe the feeling. “I need a fix of all the things I love about Puffin Island. I soak it up, absorb it, then take it with me somewhere else. That’s what I do. I should be applying for things now, but every time I sit down at the laptop and look at what’s out there, there’s nothing that grabs me. Nothing that feels worth leaving Castaway Cottage. I love it here. I’d forgotten how much. Listen—” She tilted her head and listened to a haunting, melodic cry from the far side of the pond. “Do you hear that?”

“Loons. They’re calling to each other. It’s an eerie sound.” His leg brushed lightly against hers. “I guess it’s their equivalent of texting. They’re good parents, did you know that? They carry their young on their backs, protecting them.”

His words brought a lump to her throat. From the little she knew, his own experience of childhood had been vastly different.

“John Harris used to bring Helen Cooper and me up here and we’d camp out by the water and watch them. I used to read with a flashlight and he’d tell me off for attracting insects. As long as it wasn’t spiders, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was read about all these other places that existed beyond the shores of Puffin Island. It fascinated me that tourists were desperate to come here and we were all desperate to leave.”

“I guess we all want what we don’t have. That’s human nature.”

They sat in silence, listening to the soft lap of water against the dock.

“I used to dream about the world beyond Puffin Island. I read Robinson Crusoe and wanted to be shipwrecked. Then I discovered Jane Austen and wanted to live in an English country house complete with staff and to travel everywhere by horse-drawn carriage.”

“Not the most reliable mode of transport.”

“True. And in reality I would have been one of the servants, which would not have been fun. What did you dream about?” Her casual question was met with silence.

He stared into the darkness towards the call of the loons. “There wasn’t much room in my life for dreams.” The stillness of his features made her shiver.

Feeling it, he turned to her. “Still cold? Zip up the coat.”

“I should be giving it back to you.”

“I’m fine.” He rose to his feet. “Stand up.”

She did as he ordered and tried to zip the jacket herself, but with one hand it was impossible and Zach reached down and nudged her fingers out of the way. His head was lowered towards hers and she could see the rough shadow of his jaw and the molten black of his eyes. In the semidarkness his face was all hard lines and dangerous edges.

He was close. So close. If she leaned forward just a little, she’d be kissing him.

With sure fingers he eased the zip upwards, the movement drawing them closer still.

“This must be a whole new experience for you, Zachary Flynn.” Her voice sounded croaky. “Dressing a woman instead of undressing her.”

He paused for a fraction of a second, then zipped the jacket all the way up to her throat with careful hands. “I can manage it if I focus.” The backs of his fingers brushed her jaw gently and lingered. “You were good with Travis today.”

She wondered why such a simple gesture could have her nerve endings jumping. “He didn’t really talk to me.”

“But he listened. That’s a start. You’re a kind person, Brittany.”

“So are you. You were good with little Grace. Patient.”

He let his hands drop. “No reason not to be. Plenty of folk are scared of the forest.”

“Before she went to sleep I heard her telling her friend that you told her the forest is home to the animals and they just want to get on with their lives. You made more progress with her than I did with Travis.”

“He stayed close to you. Talked a bit. Listened a lot. I’d call that progress.”

“But he didn’t talk about anything personal. I was hoping he might.” Because the urge to kiss Zach was almost overwhelming, she turned her head and stared across the water. “I can’t bear that his default is not to trust anyone.”

“When you’re used to living that way, it’s hard to change.” He paused. “And sometimes it’s not wise.”

“How can it not be wise?”

There was a long pulsing silence. “Because,” he said slowly, “sometimes not trusting is what keeps you safe.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She knew, without even a flicker of doubt, that he was talking from experience.